


Aren't Canadians supposed to be polite?

by QueenOfBrooklyn



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Farmer's Market AU, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 12:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfBrooklyn/pseuds/QueenOfBrooklyn
Summary: This fic is about a month late. I wanted to post it before school but yeah, that didn't happen. So am I late because of school work or because of procrastination during my free time? You'll never know.Any who, I decided to write this fic loosely based off ofthispost fromairplainesandcookiesover on tumblr. It's not exactly identical to the idea of the post, but I did the best I could.All French translations can be found in the notes at the end of the fic!





	Aren't Canadians supposed to be polite?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about a month late. I wanted to post it before school but yeah, that didn't happen. So am I late because of school work or because of procrastination during my free time? You'll never know. 
> 
> Any who, I decided to write this fic loosely based off of [this](https://monsieurjacksdad.tumblr.com/post/164240159623/airplanesandcookies-61below) post from [airplainesandcookies](https://airplanesandcookies.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr. It's not exactly identical to the idea of the post, but I did the best I could. 
> 
>  
> 
> All French translations can be found in the notes at the end of the fic!

His alarm went off at six a.m. sharp on Saturday. The constant steady pattern of beeping was what pulled him from his sleep. Jack reached out his left hand from under the pillow and pressed on the button that would turn off the alarm even though his fingers itched to tap on the snooze button instead. But no, he couldn’t do that. Not today. It was Saturday after all. 

He let out a satisfying groan into his pillow before pushing himself up into a sitting position on the side of the bed. He needed to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, make lunch, pick up Matt, make sure that Matt had eaten breakfast and then make his way to the Public Market for 9. 

Jack took a deep breath and then finally opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the lighting of his room. He’d left his blinds open just a little last night to let the cool night breeze filter in from the window. Alright, time to go; time for another hectic Saturday. 

*  
Bitty’s alarm blared Crazy in Love for the fifth time when he finally conceded and decided it was time to get up. He glanced at the time on his phone when he turned alarm off. 8 a.m. Shit. He had been planning on taking the bus this morning. Well, looks like that wasn’t going to happen now. He’d long since missed the bus that was going to bring him to the market on time. He was going to have to bike there this morning. And skip his shower to make sure he wasn’t going to be late. He made a mental not to pack his deodorant after he put some on. 

Letting out a small whine, Bitty hurriedly got himself out of bed and started throwing clothes on. A pair of shorts, a tank top and a comfortable plaid shirt; he now knew that the cool nights and mornings were nothing to base his wardrobe on. The afternoons here could get warm and humid when they wanted to. 

His cousin Marcy had given him the plaid shirt as a gift before he’d left Georgia. “If you’re going to live with the lumberjacks you’re going to have to fit in,” she’d told him. She hadn’t been wrong that’s for sure. He blended into the crowd without a problem until the situation required him to open his mouth which proceeded to betray him as it revealed his accent. 

He’d moved up here at the beginning of June. He’d found a small apartment that wasn’t too expensive on the south shore of Montreal that was only about 35 minutes away from school by public transport. He’d wanted the extra couple of months before his classes started to get acclimatized to his environment, find a job, make sure he was actually going to be able to speak French… that sort of thing. 

He sprayed some dry shampoo into his hair, shoved his feet into his shoes and sprinted towards his front door as he threw his heavy backpack over his shoulders. He silently thanked the previous tenant for leaving their old bike behind as he pushed it out into the hall and locked his door behind him. It had saved his ass more than once this week. He really needed to get his act together; he wasn’t making much of a first impression.

*  
“Have you eaten?” Jack asks Matt when he climbs into the passenger seat of his car. 

“Ouais,” Matt answers, keeping his gaze away from Jack as he buckled his seatbelt. 

“Mathieu.” His tone is stern with a hint of warning in it. His captain voice. The boys knew not to mess with him when he used the tone. 

“No….” Matt mumbles staring down at his knees. 

“Hey,” Jack reached over to squeeze the boy’s shoulder. “You know you don’t have to be ashamed; you don’t have to lie to me about this.” 

“I know… ‘scuse,” he mumbled glancing up at Jack. 

“Don’t be sorry Kiddo,” he patted the boy’s shoulder and shifted his car into drive. “We’ll pick up something for everyone.” 

They showed up at the public market a few minutes later, and on their way to their booth they stopped by La Bouche Gourmande bakery to grab half dozen muffins from Michelle. He’d much rather the boys be snacking on these than their own products which they could be selling to paying customers. Not to mention that Jack generally preferred that the boys under his supervision not eat their weight in doughnuts (he knew they would if they could) during the off season. Unlike him, these boys didn’t keep up their continuous workouts throughout the summer. They did what they did best in their months off from school; they acted like 11 and 12 year old boys. 

As he was handing over a twenty, he spotted a mason jar of what claimed to be homemade strawberry jam. He never could resist fresh and locally grown fruits during the summer. 

“This too please,” he said, sliding the jar towards her. She handed him his change and his bagged purchase. He bid her a good day and went across the hall to the kiosk that advertised Les Beignes Tremblay. 

The owners hired summer employees to take over while they went on vacation or just to spend some quality family time at home. And for the past couple of years, they would spend a the last week in June training Jack’s Peewee recruits to make donuts and then leave the stand under Jack’s control on Saturdays for the rest of the summer. The employees took care of it the rest of the week. All the profits that Jack and the team made during the summer were donated to the upcoming year’s team to help out any kid whose parents couldn’t afford to pay for things like hockey equipment or registration for the season. 

The Tremblays had a son, Owen, who was now 16. The first year that Jack had taken on the role of head coach Owen had been 11 and had had a best friend who’d almost dropped out of playing, despite his incredible talent, because his parents couldn’t afford the sport. After watching Jack do everything in his power that season to keep the boy playing, all whilst inspiring him and the rest of the team in a way that no other coach had, the Tremblays decided that they wanted to give back to the hockey community. Thus started the tradition of having the players come in and handle the dough and hot oil once a week during the summer. You’d think it wouldn’t be a good idea to have 11 and 12 year olds doing this type of work, but the boys prided themselves with being given this much responsibility and worked as hard as they could to prove that they deserved to be doing this. The bonus was that it also helped create team bonding before the start of the next season. 

*  
Bitty quickly locked his bike up outside and ran into the market. Michelle was already there, obviously, but according to the clock on the wall, he was still early. La Bouche Gourmande hadn’t been looking to hire this summer, but Bitty had made them a deal they couldn’t refuse. He’d managed to talk to owner into letting him work for free. He’d used the arguments that he was trying to get the most hands on experience he could before he started his professional pastry making program in the fall at l’Institut de Tourisme et d’Hôtellerie du Québec and that he didn’t need constant supervision due to the fact that he already had some experience working in a bakery. Another argument had been one of Bitty’s pies. So the owner now knew first that that once someone tried one of his pies, they would come back for seconds. The plus side for Bitty, other than the experience, was that they were letting him sell his homemade jam and letting him to take home any profit made from that. 

“I’m not late!” Bitty exclaimed, huffing as he tried to catch his breath. 

Michelle rolled her eyes, but didn’t scold him. Bitty quickly made his way behind the counter, pulled on an apron and got to work. He knew that Michelle wasn’t actually mad with him as she plugged her phone into the stereo of the back store and let a slow stream of Beyoncé pour out of them. They’d bonded on Bitty’s first day, Monday, when he’d showed up wearing a Don’t Worry Be Yoncé shirt. 

Bitty’s responsibilities mostly included taking care of the cash once they opened for the day, but he was allowed to help out in the back during prep and during the quieter hours of the day. 

*  
Most of the time, Jack spent his Saturdays trying to herd the small subsection of his team, to assign them tasks, and to make sure that no one got burned. Today, however, was different. Today there was a blond boy across the alley way, coming in and out from the back of La Bouche Gourmande. Okay, boy wasn’t exactly the right word. The people Jack was _supposed_ to be watching were boys. _He_ , however, was more of a young man. Not as old as Jack, but he definitely had to be old enough for Jack to be staring at him and not feel creepy about it. 

His blond hair was buzzed on the sides and longer on the top. He had brown eyes and an annoyingly huge smile that he’d flash at people, whether they are customers or passersby’s. He was wearing a blue and green plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tone arms, unbuttoned at the top putting his collar bones on display. 

Jack watched as he smiled and greeted another customer that walked into his store. Seriously though, this guy needed to stop it with the doe-eyes. 

*  
“Bonjour! Hi!” Bitty greeted a woman and what he assumed was her daughter that walked into their tiny shop. He’d picked up the habit from Michelle, who greeted customers this was as well. She told him it was to be polite and to demonstrate to the customers that she was willing to speak to them in whichever language they chose. Customer service was key she told him; a happy customer was a customer who bought stuff. 

Bitty personally decided to add on the English in the hopes that the customers would chose to speak to him in that language. 

Yes, the more he practiced his French the better it would get, but that one semester class he’d taken at Samwell before giving up his scholarship definitely hadn’t made him the most confident. He still couldn’t imagine what he would have chosen as a major had he’d stayed at Samwell and there’s no way he could have afforded the tuition without his scholarship. Bless Quebec and their low tuition, even if his courses were going to be bilingual. It could have been worse though, a couple of years ago the program he was now enrolled in had been given solely French. 

“Allo,” the woman answered. Bitty fought back a cringe and shot her a wide smile instead. He gave himself a small pep talk before serving her with only a couple minor hiccups. As she was leaving, Bitty greeted a new costumer, using both languages again, only to watch her roll her eyes in response. 

“Tu sais, les anglophones comprendraient le mot ‘bonjour’. Aucun besoin de dire ‘hi’ aussi,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Weren’t Canadians supposed to be polite?? What was this kind of attitude?! 

“J’essaie juste d’être poli Madame,” he replied with his thick accent and a fake smile. He hoped it wouldn’t provoke her to persist with her rudeness. Luckily, it didn’t impede her from understanding him and he managed to successfully serve her. He still let out a sigh of relief though as she finally left. He was pondering how the politeness stereotype wasn’t really living up to standards and prayed that this woman had been an exception to the rule when he spotted someone looking at him from across the hall. 

Tall, dark, and handsome were the three words that Bitty would have chosen to describe him. And then he’d add on intense and also a little scary. By the look that the man was giving him (or maybe it was more appropriate to call it a glare) Bitty suddenly felt like he’d done something wrong. 

He felt his body instinctually shrink away from the stare and turn to head to the back store, hoping that Michelle would have something for him to do away from the public’s eye, so to say, for a little while. 

*  
“A DOZEN POWDER” a prepubescent voice squeaked loudly, pulling Jack’s eyes away from the bakery the following Saturday. He’d spent the week being embarrassed about being caught staring and now he couldn’t stop sneaking glances over to La Bouche Gourmande. He hoped the guy he’d seen last week was a weekday employee that had only been filling in last Saturday. That way Jack would never have to see him again and wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of coming up with an excuse as to why he’d been staring last week. 

He couldn’t even come up with one for himself. An excuse that is. He couldn’t figure out why he’d continued looking at him for so long; after all, he’d been so annoyed with the guy’s sunny deposition and doe-eye. 

“Last customer boys,” Jack called out to the five preteens that were working hard to finish up the order in record time. He punched the order into the cash and had the customer pay just in time for the boys to box up the doughnuts. “Have a nice day,” he smiled to the man. The guy’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but he turned and left without another word. Not the first, nor would it be the last, time that someone had given him the ‘you look familiar but…. no you mustn’t be him’ look. 

“Time for lunch,” Jack declared as he put up a small sign that indicated that they would be back at one. The boys washed up and grabbed their packed lunches before they all headed outside together to a shaded area with picnic benches for them to sit at. 

Jack pulled out the PB&J sandwich that he’d made this morning with the jam he’d bought off Michelle last Saturday. He’d forgotten all about it until he’d started piling things into his messenger bag for today’s shift last night before bed. He’d completely forgotten that he’d stowed the Mason jar away in his bag after purchasing it last week. 

He took a bite and, with a lot of self-control, held back what would have been a highly inappropriate groan. He chewed and swallowed silently before trying another bite. 

Nope, it hadn’t been a fluke; this jam was probably one of the best things that Jack had ever tasted. It wasn’t too sweet, which was a common problem when he tried to buy store brand jams, and there were still chunks of strawberries in the mixture, like Jack loved. 

Jack paced himself to finish the sandwich at a normal speed and was thankful that the jar was at home and out of reach so that he wouldn’t be tempted to just sit here and eat it by the spoonful. 

*  
Bitty loved the public market. It was open year round and was both indoor and outdoor with permanent vendors. He loved the sense of community and friendliness. It reminded him of the farmer’s markets that he and his Mama used to have a table at down in Georgia. 

Of course his ideal scenario for a job this summer had been that he’d set up a stand at a farmer’s market and sell his baked and jarred goods, however he hadn’t been able to find anything like he’d had back at home. The public market was the closest he’d been able to find, both geographically in regards to his apartment and in similarities to the market back home. Compromises had to be made. No, he wasn’t making as much money as he hoped he might, but he was gaining experience which would serve him well once school started. He also hoped that enough people liked his jam that he’d be able to set up some sort of online store of sorts once the summer was over or that the bakery would let him keep selling it once the semester start. He’d be able to make some more cash that way. Not that cash was much of a problem, Bitty just wanted to be on the safe side. He knew how bad his baking habits could get and he wouldn’t have the sin bin for funds anymore. 

After a year and a half at Samwell, the checking and the fainting on the ice had become too much. The coaches noticed too and Bitty had opted to bow out before getting kicked off the team. That had meant that he wouldn’t have a scholarship anymore and he knew that his parents wouldn’t be able to afford the next two and a half years of tuition. Seeing as he had yet to declare a major and still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, Bitty also opted out of the spring semester of his second year. His parents had insisted that it wasn’t necessary and that they would find the money, but Bitty wouldn’t let them. The team was going to let him stay at the Haus. So long as he continued to provide baked goods, they saw no point in kicking him out. 

So Bitty got a job at Annie’s and then eventually got a job at the bakery that provided Annie’s with their baked goods. Their manager was from Montreal and she’d talked to Bitty about the program she’d taken at ITHQ. Bitty had gone back to the Haus to call his parents while he filled out the online application. 

Therefore, Bitty had managed to save up quite a bit of cash after working for 5 months, full time, without having to spend much of it on rent or food. He also knew that his parents were more than willing to help out if he ever wound up short on cash. Plus, they’d wired him the college fund they’d set up for him when he was a kid but hadn’t had to use seeing as he’d gotten a full ride at Samwell. By next summer he’d also be interning at a full time paying job in a bakery, so he really only had to last through a year. 

So, no, money wasn’t a problem right now. But, Bitty felt better being safe than sorry. Plus it was keeping him busy so he wouldn’t spend hours on end on Youtube back at his apartment. 

Bitty hoped off the bus, smiling at the driver and wishing him a good day. This week had been better than last; everyone had been more polite, he was growing closer with Michelle who reminded him more and more of Lardo, and there hadn’t been any glaring coming from Les Beignes Tremblays. That all goes without mentioning that it was Saturday, his last day before two days off, and he’d only had to come in for noon. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he made his way down the sidewalk towards the public market and he pulled it out to read the twitter notification. He chuckled at the tweet and quickly @ replied his mutual back with a witty come back in regards to the benefits of using butter over lard in pie crusts when suddenly things went black. 

Bitty came to as he heard someone speaking to him in rapid French. He was too disoriented to try and figure out what the person was saying. Instead, he took in his surroundings. He was curled up on the curb, his phone clutched into his hand. 

Ah fuck it had happened again. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he reassured the person who was still yammering off in French. 

“Are you sure? You really went down…” A hand was out, waiting for him to grab. The hand was attached to a young boy. How humiliating. 

“I’m sorry! But I barely touched him, I swear!” the boy next to him exclaimed, switching from French to English once he realized that the man he’d accidentally assaulted was Anglophone. The boy was tall despite his young age. He had dark skin and curly hair. Bitty wanted to chuckle at how much he made him think of Nursey. Oh lord, he missed his frogs. 

“Oh, honey, no it wasn’t you, don’t worry about it,” Bitty assured the boy as he grabbed his friend’s hand and pulled him up. 

“I really am sorry though, sir,” the second boy apologized again. Sir. Bitty wanted to laugh. 

“Don’t you worry about it sweet pea,” Bitty repeated. He quickly checked his bag to make sure that his stash of jam was still intact. “Why don’t you guys let me apologize for scaring you? You boys stop by La Bouche Gourmande later on; I’m making some mini pies.” 

The two boys looked perplexed. “Really? Are you sure? I am the one who bumped you… even though it wasn’t hard!” he quickly added. 

“Yes of course, now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to work on those pies.” He shot the boys a warm smile and went on his way. The smile dropped however when he was far enough away from the pair. He’d really hopped that he’d be leaving this problem on the ice back at Samwell. 

*

"Well don't just stand there, come in, come in," Bitty insisted as he saw the two boys lingering by the door. He and Michelle were just cleaning up, about to lock of for the day. He had been starting to think that the boys wouldn't show. 

He quickly ducked behind the counter and pulled out a small box. "Now, I didn't know what y'all preferred so there's an apple, a cherry, a blueberry and a sugar pie in there," Bitty told them handing over the box with a smile. 

"We brought these for you," the boy who bumped into him said, handing over a small red and white box with logo from Les Beignes Tremblay. "To say sorry too. We volunteer at Tremblay's on weekends, we thought you might like to try some of the doughnuts we made," he explained as he and his friend looked quite proud of themselves. 

"That's very nice of you," Bitty smiled and the exchanged boxes. He flipped open the lid and chose a donut hole. “Mhmm, these are pretty good,” he complimented them. “But you know what you could do to make them even better…?” 

 

*

“Pas trop de farine Oli!” 

"Guys what are you doing?" Jack asked, the following week. 

"We're trying to use less flour on the counter! Eric told us we were probably using too much! It’s probably what’s making our donuts lopsided! He could tell just by the texture!” Tristan explained. 

"Eric who?" No one by that name worked for the Tremblay's or played for his team. 

"He works at La Bouche Gourmande! We met him last week, Mike bumped into him and we brought him some donuts to say sorry! He liked them and that they were _almost_ perfect! We’re going to bring him more at the end of the day to see if we’re doing better!” 

"I'm sure he means well but I don't know how comfortable Mr. and Mrs. Tremblay are going to feel about you guys listening from a stranger instead of following their instructions... What if he doesn't know what he's talking about? What if something goes wrong?" 

"We've been doing it all morning coach, nothing's gone wrong and no one has complained..." Matt replied, sticking up for his friends. 

Jack debated on what to do. Did he let a stranger try run his friends' shop and tell his team what to do? Or should he put his foot down and make his team follow protocol. 

"Let me try one," he said reluctantly. Matt smirked and brought him a freshly dusted cinnamon sugar donut hole. Jack took a bite of half and chewed it slowly, almost experimentally. Matt simply stood in front of him smirking, as though he knew that Jack wouldn’t be able to say anything bad and that the boys wouldn’t be able to get in trouble for straying from the path. 

“Alright,” he grumbled, leaving that to be his only answer. He ate the other half of his donut and stood from his perch on a stool. He went over to the cash to busy himself with some papers, leaving the boys to gloat on their own. 

A flash of blond caught his eye and Jack just couldn’t stop the glare he shot in that general direction. 

*

Today was not Bitty’s day. His phone hadn’t charged; he’d gotten up on time but his bus never showed, making him late even though he shouldn’t have been and he couldn’t call Michelle to let her know, then he’d accidentally burned the scones and spilled flour everywhere so Michelle had exiled him to the front of the store. There was no doubt that she was ticked at him. 

Needless to say that this had all left Bitty in a bit of a foul mood. Not to mention that he was exhausted as hell and it wasn’t even noon yet. 

The only thing going for him right now was that the last four clients who’d walked in had spoken to him in English. There was a couple of people browsing around the shop, they’d come in when he’d been serving his last customer at the cash and didn’t have the energy to go and see if they needed help. If they did they’d come to him, he decided.

“Hi there,” he greeted a man that was currently stepping into the store. Unfortunately, he got nothing but a dirty look in return. 

“On est au Québec ici, on peut parler en français,” the tone and loudness of the man’s voice made Bitty freeze. He couldn’t do anything but blink up at the man. When he didn’t get a response the man clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Typique.”

"On va se calmer," another voice came from behind the man. “J’suis certain que si vous le demandez de manière poli que vous pourriez etre servi en français."

The first man was about to turn around, probably to give the other man hell. 

“Je peux vous servir en français, y’a aucun problème," Bitty chimed in quickly before this man could release his wrath on someone else. 

He served the man as quickly as possible and bid him good day, “Bonne journée.” 

“Oubliez pas de commencer en français la prochaine fois," was the goodbye that Bitty got in return. 

"I thought that Canadians were supposed to be nice," Bitty grumbled, sorting the merchant copy of the reciept into the small basket by the cash. 

“I do appologize on behalf of all of us Canadians,” a deep voice answered unexpectedly. He’d forgot that there was another person in line. He turned to greet him and thank him for sticking up for him earlier, only to find that the man in front of him was the one that had been glaring at him from the store across the isle only an hour ago. 

"Oh, it's you," he said before he could stop himself. "Sorry, I just...I've seen you across the hall," _glaring_ , he added silently. 

The man's cheeks flushed slightly. "Um, the boys wanted me to bring you these," he said. "They're quite proud of the results they got from following your advice." He slid a box across the counter towards Bitty. 

"Oh, well that's so sweet. I didn't expect them to actually listen to what I had to say," he lifted the lid of the box and smiled down at the identical round donuts. "These look perfect," he smiled back up at the man. 

"They'll be glad to hear it; they really want to do their best to impress the Tremblay's... They're the most enthusiastic team I've had so far. It really means a lot to them to be able to help out their teammates." 

"Oh; that's nice" Bitty replied. 

The man must have sensed that he had no idea what he was talking about so he continued: "They're a pewee hockey team. They volunteer their time in the summer to work on Saturdays to help raise money for their teammates who wouldn't be able to play without the financial help.” 

“That’s awfully nice,” Bitty smiled. “Are you a Tremblay?” he asked. He couldn’t help but resist picking a donut out of the box and popping it into his mouth. 

“No, I’m their coach. Jack, by the way,” he stuck out his hand. Bitty quickly wiped off his powder covered fingers on his apron before shaking the man’s hand. 

“Bitty,” he introduced himself without thinking. “Um, I mean Eric.” 

“Hockey nickname? Or do they call you that because of your size?” Bitty was flabbergasted. 

“Oh, chirp, chirp, Mr. Jack. I’ll have you know that I had a scholarship to play for Samwell University.” He’d long since stopped making the mistake of using the present tense in that sentence. He paused, waiting for Jack to ask him what he was doing in Montreal or ask questions about the upcoming season. 

“No way, my mom went there, I almost went… Decided to stick around at home instead, go to McGill, get my teaching degree instead,” he answered, taking Bitty by surprise. 

“Maybe we would have played on the same team,” Bitty laughed. 

“I think I’m a little older, we probably would have just missed each other,” Jack replied. 

“Plus I quit to come to pastry school, so there’s that too.” There’s a brief awkward beat before Jack’s eyes drop down to the jars of jam on the counter. Apple, cherry, and strawberry this week. 

“I’ll take one of each,” Jack said, pushing three jars towards Bitty and pulling out his wallet. 

“Three?” Bitty blinked. 

“Yeah,” Jack chuckled. “I bought some a couple weeks back and it took everything in me not to go home and eat the entire jar by spoon. If I have three jars, maybe I’ll be able to pace myself.” 

“Well if you can’t, why don’t you give me a call and I can hook you up with a private stash. Maybe I can even teach you how to make some yourself so you don’t break the bank,” Bitty put Jack’s cash in the register. He also decided to write his number on the back of Jack’s receipt before second guessing himself. 

“You made these?” Jack’s cheeks were turning bright pink. 

“It’s a bit of a family tradition…Long story.” Bitty put the three jars and the receipt into a plastic bag. 

“Well, I think I’m more than able to pay for it Bitty, no need to learn how to make it myself,” Jack said, much to Bits’ dissapointment. “But I’ll definetely have to hit you up for the private stash offer.” 

The smile he shot him made Bitty’s insides tangle up in knots and made his brain erase any memory he had of that glare Jack had would, on occasion, shoot him from across the hall. He’d have to ask him about that one day, but for now, Jack and the man across the hall were two different people. At the moment, all Bitty could think of was those sparkling blue-eyed man who helped his pewee team raise money by making doughnuts, was obsessed with his jam, and was shooting him a flirtacious smile as he promised to text him as he went to leave the store. And that still didn’t stop him from glancing over his shoulder and shooting Bitty another smile before disappearing around the corner.

**Author's Note:**

> ouais = yes  
> 'scuse = sorry  
> La bouche gourmande = the hungry mouth  
> Les Beignes Tremblay = Tremblay's doughnuts  
> Tu sais, les anglophones comprendraient le mot ‘bonjour’. Aucun besoin de dire ‘hi’ aussi,” = Anglopones would understand the word "hello". No need to say 'hi' as well.  
> J’essaie juste d’être poli Madame = I'm only trying to be polite ma'am  
> Pas trop de farine Oli = Not too much flour Oli  
> On est au Québec ici, on peut parler en français = We're in Quebec here, we can speak French  
> Typique = Typical  
> On va se calmer = Lets calm ourselves  
> J’suis certain que si vous le demandez de manière poli que vous pourriez etre servi en français = I'm sure if you asked politely you can be served in French  
> Je peux vous servir en français, y’a aucun problème = I can serve you in French, there's no problem  
> Bonne journée = Have a good day  
> Oubliez pas de commencer en français la prochaine fois = don't forget to start in french next time
> 
>  
> 
> Well I hope you guys enjoyed that! I know it's not my best work, I really struggled to get it done, but here it is, finally finished, so I couldn't not post it! I hope it was at least a little entertaining for you all! And also please excuse any mistakes that may remain!
> 
> Also, I know it's not quite a farmer's market, but I wanted to keep it realistic and this is the best thing I could find in the area. Our farmer's markets seem to be sparse so it didn't really fit with the plot!   
> Also, the previous tenant of Bitty's apartment? It was totally Johnson. He left his bike behind for the sake of the plot.


End file.
